Legwork
by marylouleach
Summary: Sherlock is framed for a crime, Mycroft is attacked, John is missing and all lives are threatened. Angst and chaos. Some Leg work is needed, how tedious. WIP 221b format all because I felt like a challenge. Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1 The Brolly and the Blackberry

Cool grayish-blue eyes narrowed on the pool of blood slick and staining the cold warehouse floor. Blood splatter dotted his expensive Alexander Amosu, and thunder threatened.

This was supposed to be a meeting between informants, a trusted member of the American CIA. Somehow the meeting was leaked and the casualties were people Mycroft had trusted.

It was a rare thing to trust, the British Government didn't have friends, only contacts and assets. His hands were sticky and stained red. A familiar blackberry laid near the crimson puddles.

Crouching down he picked it up, carefully wiping it clean with a blue silk handkerchief.

Mycroft tried to ignore the echo of the scene playing out in the secret places of his mind's fortress.

The tall man clutched his brolly straightening his shoulders. This wasn't the time for sentiment. "Sir, " an agent approached apprehensively. Scene is secure."

"Report."

"There is evidence a third part was sitting in the rafters. One of our own was shot with a silencer, and the unidentified assassin took his place and his weapon. We are sure he used the disguise of Agent F and his credentials to exit the scene during the initial chaos. The American is dead and Agent A is in critical condition."

"Find them." Aware of the rain, he readied his brolly.


	2. Chapter 2 Pills and a Pistol

Sherlock couldn't concentrate, the world was spinning all so fast. He thought he heard voices as the lights of his mind palace were shutting off. His transport ignored the alarms in his head like flashing police lights.

Weightless, the sky with the many nameless stars danced above him. Gravity was boring anyway, his eyes blinked away tears? A rumble from above and his mind supplied him with the word _**RAIN**_.

Turning his fuzzy head a dark metallic object came into view, warn down where a steady hand gripped it. Unsteady hands reached out to touch the cool hilt of the abandoned browning. Words were leaking from him like the crimson staining his hands.

"John?" His mind yelled in a futile attempt at snapping him out of the drowsy lull he adopted.

This was what heroin felt like. John wouldn't be happy if Sherlock was on drugs again.

"Sherlock? Don't move." A voice from far away deep in the blur of this dream.

Hands, not John's, were on his neck, pushing on a pulse point. Something rolled into view near the gun laying within reach. A bottle of pills, like the gun it belonged to John.

"Sherlock what have you done?" A gravely huff. It was alright, John would wake him soon, his transport just needed a break.


	3. Chapter 3 Wall paper and Watches

John awoke, tied to a chair hands bound behind his back(not unusual). Squinting, blinking back the tears he gritted his teeth, the room was dimly lit. Only four old walls, a wooden door and a single hanging light bulb to keep him company.

The wallpaper was ghastly, apparently someone else believed the same and had tried to paint over the awful paisley designs.

None of this mattered, the ex army doctor tried to remain focused.

His last memory was Sherlock's eye roll, smug and unafraid, mocking the intruders holding them hostage. Even with a gun at his head the man managed a bored face.

This was the scene John arrived home to, his instinct was to fight.

"I wouldn't." A stranger's warning.

"Oh do get on with it. My tea is getting cold." Sherlock demanded. The gun turned from Sherlock to John, and like a cork from a bottle the ex-soldier remembered the feeling of being shot.

Everything was a little fuzzy from that point until waking up here. The doctor in him warned of infection among other things. His shoulder felt as if someone inexperienced had hastily tried to bandage the wound.

Listening he heard nothing but the steady rain just outside the boarded up window and ticking of his wrist watch. Just breathe. Breathe.


	4. Chapter 4 Scenes and Suspects

Running, Lestrade was running like a mad man in the rain. His long gray trench flapping like a flag, knocked about in the wind.

Without hesitation Lestrade had left Anderson in charge of the scene back at 221B. This was a nightmare reeking of a set up, and DCI Lestrade wasn't easily fooled by a frame job. _Never again. Not Again._

Some Anonymous call about gunshots from 221b had been made, and he took the call even if it wasn't his division. It was a day Mrs. Hudson was away visiting family (convenient). Greg noted a bag of groceries laid near the door as if dropped in surprise or a rush. No signs of struggle and then there was the blood.

Mycroft Holmes would have normally beat him to the scene, but the bloody posh bastard wasn't answering his mobile! Now from the condition of the flat someone was hurt, and badly.

"A man fitting Holmes description has been reported waving a gun in an alley just two blocks from here." One of the constables at his side repeated, trying to keep up with the determined DCI.

DCI Lestrade made it very clear Sherlock and John were victims until proven otherwise. Then he found Sherlock Holmes blood on his hands, pills in his pocket and John's Browning


	5. Chapter 5 Pawns and Powerhouses

Mycroft was a powerful man, but he was far from the only one belonging to the world.

There were others, both sexes and somewhat matching his skill.

Wars started and ended, like chess matches between geniuses, except the British Government had come to learn that the pieces weren't inanimate objects.

No, each piece represented a breathing, living human being. An important lesson his brother had taught him, both brothers having learned it the hard way together.

Mycroft knew, to destroy a man you need only to disarm him, you strip him of his reason, and weapons, you've set yourself up for a win.

"Mycroft old boy, you are slipping in your old age. Or perhaps it's the distractions of family." Mycroft narrowed his eyes on the young dark haired man sitting across the polished conference table. The meeting room had several very powerful players in the world's affairs. Each one representing a country, a people and a cause. This one however was one of his own country. "If you need time off, the head office is willing to allow it."

Power plays and coups were very much a common thing in Mycroft's circles. When swimming with sharks it was unwise to bleed in the water, after reading the report from Lestrade's team, he was bleeding.


	6. Chapter 6 Headaches and Handcuffs

Sherlock pulled from his bad dream, eyes snapping open, something was keeping his arm from lifting. With a quick glare he realized he was handcuffed to a hospital bed.(Not unusual)

A redheaded nurse in blue scrubs was checking vitals, "Where's John?" Sherlock groaned, his friend would normally be there when he woke up. John was always there. Something was wrong, why couldn't he remember?

The drumming in his head was so distracting, then two police officers entered.

"Is he healthy enough to question?"

The nurse glanced down at the chart, "No, he's still out of it. He won't be any help, can't even form a full sentence."

The two constables nodded "We'll be back."

The nurse waited for them to leave, " Ugh, this is so going to get me fired." She shrugged, withdrawing what looked like lock picking tools from her front pocket. Sherlock didn't hesitate, he grabbed the package up with his free hand.

"DCI Lestrade is waiting in back alley, there's a lab coat and doctor's scrubs there. FYI the fire alarm is going to be pulled in two minutes. Don't remember me, huh? Figures, you rude git. I'm a colleague of Doctor Watson's."

Sherlock released his arm, "You know John isn't into redheads."

"Bastard."


	7. Chapter 7 Allies and Alleys

Sherlock easily deduced that he had been drugged, he just couldn't remember the circumstances leading up to it.

The nurse hadn't filled him in, she only took her leave as quickly as possible. Maybe he should talk to John about dating again. It had been two years since Mary and the baby, well Sherlock didn't want to think of that. He tucked those memories away in his mind palace, he needed to focus on John.

Lestrade was waiting just as promised, the DCI really should work on his stealth. Sherlock moved towards the running red ford focus.

"Get in you bastard."

"You could have chosen something less-"

"Oh, shut up. I had to borrow it from Dimmock. "

"Dimmock?" That made more sense.

"Where is Dimmwit?"

"Dimmock. " Lestrade corrected.

"He pulled the alarm. Now, do you want to tell me why you had drugs in your system, and John's blood on your hands? What supervillain have you pissed off now? Sherlock?" Lestrade snapped his fingers. "Dammit, Sherlock help me out. Where's John?"

"Take me back to my flat." Sherlock pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples.

"Sherlock, we dont-listen mate. Molly and Anderson can stall the forensics report but not the results. Sherlock, that was a lot of blood. Where is John?"

"Blood. John's blood?"


	8. Chapter 8 resolve and result

_**A/N: sorry for the updates i was having brain issues lol and kept hitting the wrong draft it's four am...dont judge me. Thanks for reading lovelies! **_

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The pain in his shoulder was only spreading now throughout his body, throbbing and burning. Feeling weak, all he wanted was sleep.

_**Maybe if I just close my eyes, just a quick rest.**_

_**John, you have to wake up. John.**_ The ghost of a dead woman was speaking kneeling down in front of him. Her words firm, and face grave, Mary wore the last thing he remembered her in. An oversized gray jumper that fell just above her knees, and those comfortable black leggings. Her belly was round and she was so close just a month short. Then the car accident, and he was alone again.

She was a trick of the mind, and he smiled sadly at her.

_**John. Sherlock is in trouble.**_

_**When isn't he?**_ his muttered reply.

_**John you need to get out of this, you've lost too much blood, you're hallucinating.**_

_**Tell me something I don't know.**_

_**This isn't like you to give up. He'll be alone.**_

"We can't have that." John spoke out loud his voice hoarse and shaking.

_**Pity party is over John, get to work.**_

_**Yes ma'am.**_ John freed his hands, biting back the cry of pain when moving his arms. Shaking off the ropes and shivering uncontrollably the good Doctor understood the blood loss was bad.


	9. Chapter 9 Conversations and Conspiracy

John moved slowly and with careful steps to the door behind him. Mary stayed beside him, "Just wait John, there's going to be men outside the door."

"Right." John dragged himself forward grateful for a carpet and not a creaky wood floor.

He shakily reached for the door, it would be too much to ask for it to be unlocked. However luck was on his side, the door was indeed unsecured.

"They always underestimate you." Mary hissed.

"Ssh, Mary. I'm not complaining."

"You do realize you're talking to yourself." Mary replied crossing her arms over her chest rolling her eyes. John smiled to himself leaning into the door he listened holding the old rusted door knob steady.

"-dropped Holmes off in the alley. Na, after we shot his little friend. Buyer doesn't care if he's half dead, even drugged Holmes tried to patch up the hole. He's got the Doc's blood all over him now. Couldn't have staged it better. He ain't going no wheres boss. We'll wait for the buyer. He seemed even happier to know it was causing Mycroft and Sherlock some trouble. He'll dump what's left of the body afterwards?" John's kidnapper move away from his door and down the creaky hallway.

John exhaled. " Body?"


	10. Chapter 10 Stains and Stairs

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait i was on a vacation. Here we go. 221 words just ignore the Author's note lol.**_

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Sherlock approached the stairs leading up to his flat, blood smeared the wall and dotted the steps. Mrs. Hudson would not appreciate that, not that it was the first time such stains soiled her carpet and wallpaper.

Lestrade ran a hand through his silver hair. " Sherlock what-"

"John came home." Sherlock closed his eyes pushing past the pounding in his own head. **_FOCUS!_**

Lestrade remained silent, following his friend past the crime scene tape.

"I-can't recall! Why can't I remember?" Sherlock swallowed, fleeting images of a limp John sized body being carried down the stairs.

"It's not about me." Sherlock stared at his own shaking hands as if searching for answers. " They had a gun to my head and could have easily killed me. I-I dared them. But-they."

"Breathe Sherlock." Lestrade steadied the swaying Detective.

"John, the gun moved in John's direction." Sherlock gasped.

_**OH GOD JOHN!** _ Pulling away from Lestrade the consulting detective turned in a small circle.

Yelling, he had yelled, and his hands remembered clamping down on something wet and sticky. "John's jumper! It was soaked!" Sherlock had yelled for the first aid kit, he needed to save John.

"Is he alive?Sherlock! Is he alive?"

The pale consulting detective turned and shook his head "I dont-I don't know. I remember his body going limp and blood."


	11. Chapter 11 Help and Handling

The consulting detective was searching the room for something that the yard may have missed, and for the first time Lestrade was hoping they had.

The DCI's mobile rang and he answered expecting it to be the Government's goons.

"Lestrade-"

"Sir, this is Detective Inspector Grayson, do you have a minute."

"Yes, what is it?" Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It seems the suspect Sherlock Holmes has fled the hospital. I suspect he is fleeing the city. I believe he had help. "

"Well he is quite resourceful if he needs to be. I'm sure you know that from the reports." Lestrade watched the young man circle the room.

"Yes sir and I also know he has friends in high places." The DI countered, "I'll give you the professional courtesy sir by asking you bring him back."

"Grayson, you're newly promoted. Yeah?"

"Sir?"

"Tread lightly lad. I'll forgive your accusation out of p**_rofessional courtesy._** Now seeing how I'm working at finding Doctor Watson and **_now_ **Sherlock Holmes. I suggest you get back to work and keep me updated. If I see either one I'll let you know. Through official lines of course. **_As a courtesy._ **Now if you're done, wasting my valuable time and please make note for future references, until you find something worth reporting DON'T CALL ME BACK!"


	12. Chapter 12 Boardrooms and Burdens

"Mycroft I hear you are having a bit of family trouble." Mrs. Smallwood flashed her well practiced look of _**concern. **_ Mycroft was never fooled by the ice queen, her only weakness had _**committed**_ suicide some time ago.

Mycroft identified the excited gleam in the woman's schooled expression, only an expert observer such as he would catch any flaws in her icy countenance. There was an edge of anger there and something else, something close to haughty reassurance.

"Did you?" Mycroft hated redundant questions, but it was polite society and certain rules needed to be followed.

"That brother of yours he can be quite the whirlwind. I do hope he is alright. After all he did for my family." Her voice dropped low, and her eyes narrowed on something just behind Mycroft. "I guess we all have our crosses to bear. It's too bad that those closest to us can't keep themselves out of the spotlight. It's worse for you I'm sure. Once an addict-"

"Mrs. Smallwood if this meeting is over I do have pressing issues."

"The board will wish to speak to regarding the incident earlier."

Mycroft held his anger in check, he continued to look unconcerned. With a slight bow he spoke, "Yes, of course. It wouldn't do to keep them waiting. Please lead the way to the boardroom."


End file.
